"Out of my way!" America, his heart hammering in fear, shoved the humans aside and ran through the corridors of the large building. Red lights flashed and sent reflections careening across his glasses.

He stopped in the large, well-lit conference room and glanced sideways at his boss. "What's happened?"

His boss turned to him. "It's Cuba. He's got nukes. We don't know how, but he's threatening to use them."

Alfred looked up at the screens arranged across the front of the room. "I don't see him."

"Russia called fifteen minutes ago. He said he would try to convince him to calm down…"

Alfred crossed the room to look at all the nations he had on speed-dial. The advanced technology was one of the advantages he had thanks to his superpowers. Humans had some trouble using it. He chewed his lip, and then decided to call Turkey.

"America! What d'you want?" The Asian nation was lounging against a satin couch. There were several luscious girls in revealing silk dresses around him.

"Cuba's showing off his nuclear missiles," Alfred said through his teeth. "If yours are armed…turn them off. Even if they're not. Just turn them off. If World War Three starts, I am not going to be blamed."

Turkey leaned forward, his eyes going wide behind his mask. "Turn them off?" he said incredulously. "Turn them off? I hope I heard you right when you said Cuba had his own."

"Turkey," Alfred snarled. "I will get my agents to turn them off and neutralize you if you don't yourself."

A pink tongue slithered out of Turkey's lips as he licked them mockingly. But he eventually gave a conceding nod and shut off the call.

Alfred breathed a cold sigh of relief.

"Cuba," Russia snarled. "Stop. Threatening. America. Do you want to start World War Three?"

Cuba spat. "I don't care as long as that asshole stops treating me like shit!"

Ivan took a deep breath. "I am sure he will—you have made your point. Now put the missiles down."

A snarl flickered across the island nation's face before another alarm went off: incoming call. From America.

Ivan picked up. "Yes, dear?"

Alfred's face was pale, painfully so. He looked desperately at Ivan—right into his eyes. Ivan felt the contact and a quiver went through his body.

"We need to stop this."

"Yes." Ivan nodded. "But how?"

Alfred bit his lip. "I don't know. Turkey's barely listening to me."

"Cuba hasn't backed down."

There was a pregnant pause.

Alarms were still going off. A tingle of worry had not yet faded from Ivan's spine. He stared into the burning, terrified blue of Alfred's eyes until the tension in his body was almost unbearable.

"I guess… I guess we're the only ones who can stop this." Alfred finally looked down.

Ivan nodded and stared at the ceiling, his mouth dry. "Together."

He turned around in his chair and called his boss over. He emerged from the shadows in the back of the darkened room and asked what they were going to do. Ivan was dimly aware, of Alfred doing the same on the other side of the world, a few inches away on a screen. He explained that negotiations had to start between their two leaders. WWIII was in danger in starting; there was nothing else they could do.

Ivan wished he could hold Alfred in his arms.

Alfred wished he could fly to Ivan's.

The tension and fear that rushed through the room was overwhelming. The negotiations had been going on for hours. Both bosses were as desperate to stop the crisis as the nations, but the differences between the countries were holding them back—

Ivan wanted to run. This was awful. What was worse, he could feel the terror making the voices inside his head gabble fiercely. They said to kill, kill everything that was making him afraid, just end it.

He grabbed his head and thought desperately, Shut up, shut up. Someone giggled in his mind. He was uncomfortably aware of Alfred's eyes on him.

Ivan looked up, saw the tears, saw through the tears, and ran…

…He was running through cold, pure cold, with someone firing at him from the distant wooded ridgeline. He glanced back, and called Finland's name—"Tino! Tino!"

The sniper made their shot, and a blazing fist struck Ivan in the shoulder. He fell, watching hot blood seep into the snow. He didn't stop calling out, though.

"Tino! Please, come back!" He licked his lips. There was blood. "I love you—please! Would you really abandon me for… for…"

He couldn't continue on—the taste of blood was burning his mouth. The cold was biting his fingers, cheeks, nose. He lifted a shuddering hand to wipe away blood from his lips and shouted with a hoarse voice for Tino to come back to him.

But it grew warm all too fast, and he realized he hadn't even seen his killer's face.

Alfred charged to the door, shouting after Ivan. He had just screamed, screamed, and ran crying out of the room. He glanced helplessly back to the bosses and saw them still talking. "I have to go after him," he said to no one in particular, and one of the guards looked at him.

He scowled at him, and ran.

Run, Alfred, run, he thought hysterically. FUCKING RUN.

The battlefield was wide and empty. No one had died on it. Yet.

Ivan stared out over it, looking at the little patches of trees, the rolling hills. "There could be so much blood," he said sadly in French.

A smaller nation, his gaudy uniform painfully bright, slipped out of the trees to stand next to him. "What a wonderful battle it will be."

Ivan spat onto the ground and did not answer.

"You don't think this war is glorious?" Francis smirked at him. "My Emperor has won almost all of Europe. England has abandoned you—turned his attention to the upstart brat. Prussia and Austria are long since subjugated." He paused to give the Russian time to respond. No answer forthcoming, he leaned in to whisper into Ivan's ear. "You can share it all."

Ivan smiled, and turned to look at Francis. Their noses were almost touching. "Why would I want to do that?"

Francis stepped closer. "You loved me once. And did I mention 'almost all of Europe'?"

"What a tempting offer." Ivan allowed his hand to steal around Francis's. "But don't I have Siberia?"

Francis showed his contempt through an elegant toss of his head—too noble to snort. "You only populate it with criminals and peasants. I have Paris."

"Hmm." Ivan purred, deep in his throat. He heard Francis's breath catch in his throat—close, they were close. He leaned in to bring their lips together. The kiss started light, but they steadily pressed their mouths together, pushing deeper with their tongues. Ivan could smell Francis's perfume—it made him light-headed.

And then he heard a horn call.

Francis abruptly pulled away and kicked Ivan to the ground. "I'm sorry, but this is a day we must face each other." There was a rasp of steel being drawn from a scabbard, and Ivan ground his teeth.

"Again," they hissed together.

Alfred dashed through the corridors, trying to find Ivan. His senses tugged at him, pulling him in the right direction.

He ran up to the Russian, who was curled in a tiny ball of fear, sobbing and shaking. He reached out to comfort him, but Ivan shoved him away. He stared at him with a tear-streaked face and screamed something in Russian. Alfred thought he heard France's name.

"Ivan!" he whispered in terror. Ivan stared back at him, then crouched down and screamed. It was a pure scream of primal horror, the sound of a small child experiencing death for the first time. The sound ripped into Alfred's heart. Sobbing, he choked Ivan's name again.

The scream faded, and Ivan took a breath to begin again, but Alfred slid forward across the tiled floor. He grabbed Ivan's shoulders quickly before the Russian had a chance to flee.

"Ivan," he whispered. "Calm down. It's okay. You're with me…!"

Ivan started screaming again, but he reached out and clutched Alfred. His arms felt as though they were going to crush Alfred. He screamed into his shoulder, tears wetting his jacket. Alfred was crying too, but he held Ivan close to him, not going to let go.

Alfred didn't let go, not even when Ivan's screams suddenly faded and his body grew cold.

"Sir! …An agreement has been reached!"

Alfred looked limply up at the ceiling, smiling. "You hear that, Ivan… We did it… We've done it." The weight in his arms dragged down, and he grinned through his tears.

Oh my god. I am so sorry that I have been absent from this story for so long, that this chapter probably sucks (I didn't look it over too much and it's been so long since I've written anything for this)... Anyways, I hope you like it! I'm probably going to wrap it up soon, next chapter maybe.